For sad it were to hurl to Hades dark
A city of old fame, 310
The spoil and prey of war,
With foulest shame in dust and ashes laid,
By an Achæan foe at God's decree;
And that our women, old and young alike,
Be dragged away, ah me!
Like horses, by their hair
Their robes torn off from them.
And lo, the city wails, made desolate,
While with confusèd cry 320
The wretched prisoners meet doom worse than death.
Ah, at this grievous fate
I shudder ere it comes.